


Take Me Down, Knock Me Out

by becbecboom



Category: Kingdom (TV 2014)
Genre: Fight Sex, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 19:36:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9622559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becbecboom/pseuds/becbecboom
Summary: Everything between them is a fight, but who's weak and who's strong? Set sometime during season 1.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/gifts).



At first, Alvey mostly lets Ryan train on his own. Closes the gym, leaves him be, taking care not to hover. Experience has taught him that Ryan can pretty much _smell_ doubt, like a wild animal, and if he gets even the slightest sense that Alvey's not one hundred and ten percent behind him, certain that this comeback is going to lead to nothing but success, then they'll be over before they even start.

Ryan is incapable of truly believing in himself, Alvey knows, and so it's Alvey's job to provide that belief. It's Alvey's job to provide whatever Ryan needs, whatever will get him back in that cage, anything at all. 

But Alvey is one hundred and ten percent confident that this will work. Or, at least, maybe, one hundred percent. Ninety percent on a bad day, when he has a headache and Lisa's talking about money and Nate won't speak to him and Jay's being Jay. Eighty percent, tops, but he'll make it work, no matter what.

Whatever it takes.

But still, he reviews the footage on his cameras, daily. Sometimes he'll even sit in his office, wordless in the dim light with the blinds closed tightly and the door locked fast, watching live on the screen as Ryan works out. He counts repetitions, makes a note of weights, times how long Ryan spends on the various machines.

Ryan pauses, breathless, leaning forward, hands on his thighs as he inhales deeply, facing away from the camera, sweat dripping down his back, following the sharp line of the blade etched on his spine. He's wearing only boxer briefs, black, low on his hips, clinging to the curve of his ass.

And no, Ryan's not ready, not yet, but he's still magnificent.

Alvey is used to other men's bodies: watching them, touching them, all a part of the strange, fiercely brutal intimacy of fighting and training, but Ryan is different. Ryan has always been different, and Alvey doesn't take his eyes from the screen as he reaches into the top drawer of his desk, rummaging blindly until he finds the bottle of lotion he keeps there.

Squeezing some out into his palm, he uses his other hand to switch cameras as Ryan heads over to the Jacob's Ladder, clipping the brake cable belt around his waist, pulling it tight impatiently as he climbs on to the machine, getting it up to full speed without even the briefest hesitation. There's no sound on the screen before him, but even through the door of his office, Alvey can hear the noises Ryan's making; grunts and harshly sharp exhalations echoing through the empty gym.

Alvey unzips his pants, taking out his cock, hard and ready, so hot the air of the room feels almost shockingly cool against his skin. He starts nice and slow, stroking, pausing every now and then to circle his thumb over the head, getting into a good rhythm, keeping pace as Ryan climbs, harder and higher. Alvey's got enough of a view of his face that he can see Ryan's grimace, the clenched jaw and gritted teeth. 

They're both in time now, faster, muscles straining, testing the limits of endurance, and Alvey knows himself well enough to understand that there's only so much he can bear. His hand is rougher on his cock, pleasure and punishment combined into something better than either, the hurt of it exactly what he needs, satisfying as taking a punch that's aimed _just_ right yet still standing, tasting blood with an unflinching, bitter smile.

He comes with a bitten-off moan, not trying as hard as he should to be quiet, just as Ryan leaps off the ladder; one huge, final gasping shout bouncing off the concrete walls of the gym as he unfastens the belt, letting it fall aside, discarded.

They both breathe, and Ryan looks up at the camera, mouth open. For a second his expression is utterly naked, the _need_ in his gaze almost shocking, but then his eyes harden, narrowing, his expression shifting into a knowing smirk. 

Alvey swallows, then slams his laptop shut, zips up his pants. He can hear Ryan moving around, pacing back and forth, and his footsteps briefly pause outside the door. Alvey is perfectly still, every cell in his body tensed, the silence almost physical, stuck in his throat like a knot, tangled and tight.

The footsteps move away, and Alvey listens, intent. 

But there's nothing.

 

The days pass, and Ryan might still be training with the gym closed, but he's made progress. How much, Alvey can't be sure, because while he's definitely fitter, leaner, there's still something lacking, that indefinable spark that makes a fighter great. And Ryan _was_ great, he _is_ great, he'll be great again. 

It's just going to take some time, but time is a luxury Alvey can ill-afford.

He's in the cage with Ryan, trying to let him get a feel for things, some makeshift sparring that's mostly just cardio. They take it in turns: punch, jab, duck, punch, jab, duck, gloves but no padding, bouncing on their feet, circling each other.

"Come on," Alvey says. "Faster." But Ryan is fading.

"I can't…" he starts, but Alvey's not letting him go down this road, not today.

"Stop thinking," he orders.

"I can't…" Ryan repeats, in that whiny tone that makes Alvey want to hit him, square in the jaw, just get it over with. 

"Jesus Christ," he spits out, instead. "Fucking grow a pair, Ryan, fucking _show up_ for once in your goddamn life."

And Ryan's eyes are suddenly alight and _there_ it is, exactly what Alvey's been looking for. Almost all fighters are temperamental, but the way Ryan's moods can turn on a dime, in an absolute instant, still unnerves Alvey almost as much as it excites him. But he doesn't let it show.

"Why, Alvey?" Ryan says, taking a step towards him. "What are you going to do? Go sit in your office and jerk off in the dark while you watch me on your little spy cameras? That's what you're into, right?"

Alvey doesn't say anything, but he doesn't back off, returning Ryan's challenging stare. He won't apologize for who he is, for what he does, not when it gets results. The tension in the air is so thick he feels like he could bite down on it, but at last he judges that Ryan's sufficiently worked up and he turns, heading towards the door without a backward glance.

"Don't you walk away from me," Ryan warns, the words escalating into a shout. "Don't you fucking _dare_." And Alvey's slammed _hard_ up against the wire of the cage, impact enough that he'll feel it tomorrow, but it's all good.

Ryan's right up in his face, his skin flushed, eyes wild and dangerous.

But Alvey's calm. "What do you want, Ryan?" he asks. "Tell me what you need."

"What do _I_ need?" Ryan huffs out a mocking laugh. "What do _you_ need, Alvey, huh, what about that?"

"From a guy like you?" Alvey raises his chin, smiling, lip curled in a visible show of disdain. "Nothing," he says. "Nothing at all."

"Yeah, bullshit," Ryan retorts immediately, shoving Alvey again, holding him in place this time, pinned tight against the wire, and Alvey doesn't fight it, not even when Ryan's suddenly on his knees in front of him, muttering _fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,_ over and over and dragging Alvey's shorts down past his thighs, out of the way. 

And Alvey's hard, of course he's hard, but it's still something else when Ryan's mouth closes over him.

He's expecting fast and rough, _efficient_ , maybe, nothing special, but Ryan's got way more technique than Alvey would have ever guessed. He's not lingering over it, definitely not trying to make it last, but he's using his tongue, hitting enough sweet spots that Alvey has to close his eyes, let his head fall back.

He rests one still-gloved hand awkwardly at the nape of Ryan's neck, thumb stroking gently at his hairline, resisting the desire to urge Ryan on, reminding himself that he has no claim to anything beyond what's being freely given.

His hips thrust forward instinctively, and he's coming, he can feel it, and Ryan has to know, but he makes no move to pull off, sucking harder, increasing his rhythm and oh _god_ , that's just right, tipping over the edge of it into careless oblivion, shooting off hot into Ryan's throat.

He inhales deeply as Ryan stands up, tongue swiping over his lips, momentarily defiant, but Alvey can see it starting to dawn on him, the realization of what he's just done. 

Alvey doesn't move, still leaning back against the wire, holding Ryan's increasingly anguished gaze. Because it's a victory, yes, but the cost is yet to be determined. There's always a reckoning, Alvey knows, a price that must be paid.

Ryan stalks off, slamming the door of the cage behind him, straight into the showers, out of sight. 

And Alvey nods to himself, satisfied. Time to call Kassabian.

Time to fight.


End file.
